


Two Serves

by kaboomz



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Confluted, Confusion, Ego, Eventually Fedal, Fedal - Freeform, First Meetings, M/M, Miami Masters 2004, Romance, Tennis, They are both dumbasses, They love each other but they're too dumb to realize it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 17:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaboomz/pseuds/kaboomz
Summary: Roger Federer's first met with Rafael Nadal was at the Miami Masters 2004. The match has never going well for Roger's record for Rafa had beat him. He was just 17 years old boy from God-knows-where in Spain. But something about him made Roger realized that tennis, life, and in-between of it has entirely a new perspective he didn't know about.





	Two Serves

**Author's Note:**

> Hulo! This is my first time posting my work on ao3 so give me lots and lots of advices please! English isn't my first language so I'm deeply sorry if the grammar or my way of storytelling doesn't quite suit you. I hope you enjoy my first chapter (of many! I think) and have a nice day!
> 
> ps: there are several Spanish in it, but being a simple writer, I just used Google Translate for it. If you speak or understand Spanish and found an error Spanish in my story (or typos too) please let me know.

The hot weather of Miami was somehow relaxing for Roger. He usually hated it, hated sweating his shirt out and felt his skin burned and all, but he didn’t hate it that time in Miami. It was 2004, the start of Miami Master was close. As impatient as he was, it couldn’t came closer in his eyes. Being the world’s number 1, he didn’t have anything on his head other than winning and having the Miami trophy within his grasp. He was so confident with his skill and plan. With such a positive mind, he reached the 32nd round with an easy pass.

From there, his days started to rolled without him aware.

“Who is this Rafael Nadal?” he asked one night to one of his agents.

“I heard he’s Spanish and he’s 17,” a man said.

“So he’s basically a nobody,” Roger replied, mockery at the edge of his tongue.

The other people on his room laughed with him.

“You shouldn’t say that, love. Although he’s 17, he passed through 32nd round. Just like you,” Mirka spoke, pouring Roger his orange juice.

“Of course, I was just kidding,” grinned Roger.

Mirka walked toward her boyfriend and gave him the glass.

“Do you want to meet him? I saw him in the restaurant with his coach, I think. Having dinner.”

“Really?”

Roger couldn’t hide the fact that he was curious about the young Spaniard. He heard numerous of times people praising the name ‘Rafa Nadal’ for with such a young age he already had great skill. He simply thought people just said that because this Rafa kid was a nobody who became so popular at the matter of short period of time. Just like he once was.

But meeting him at his next match was a good opportunity for him to actually getting to know of the young Spaniard.

“Yes. Do you want me to accompany you?” asked Mirka

“Oh no, it’s pretty late and you should get some sleep. All of you, actually,” Roger said to his team.

“So should you. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah well, I’m going to introduce myself first to the kid and straight to bed after that.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Roger was off to the restaurant after kissing Mirka on the cheek and saying goodnight to his team.

It wasn’t hard to found Rafa at the restaurant. Even though it was quite full at the restaurant, he quickly noticed the tan kid with Spanish-ish face sitting on a table. His coach was nowhere to be seen, though.

“Rafael Nadal?” greeted Roger softly.

Rafa lifted his head from a paper he was reading only to stumble himself on his chair and fell off.

“Oh God, are you okay?” Roger slightly panicked. He helped Rafa sat on the cold floor and made sure he saw alright.

Roger noticed Rafa cursing something in Spanish as he kneeled beside the younger man.

“Are you okay?” Roger asked once more.

“Uh…um… _sí_ ,” Rafa breathed through his rapid breath.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Roger apologized.

“N-no, it’s not your fault, no? I reading a letter.”

Rafa’s accent was so heavy and Roger quickly noticed his grammatical error. It was funny and cute at the same time, he thought.

“You’re Rafael Nadal, right?”

“I am.”

“Well, I’m-“

“Roger Federer.”

Roger was taken aback with Rafa’s interruption. Was he that popular among other athletes?

“Uh… you guessed correct. I’m Roger,” Roger smiled as he offered the younger man his hand.

“Rafa.” Rafa grinned and shook Roger’s hand.

“Uh… again, sorry if I surprised you. I just want to say hello before tomorrow’s match.”

“N-no, I just never thought to see you here. I thought you will never say hi to me,” Rafa said truthfully. Too truthfully, perhaps.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Roger asked quizzically.

“Tennis player like you is mean. They not like someone like me.”

Roger immediately flashed-back to what he had just said earlier in front of his team and his girlfriend.

_So he’s basically a nobody_

Even though he didn’t mean it wholeheartedly, he did mean it partially. And he felt bad for it.

“Well, I’m not most tennis players,” he then replied.

When silence was surrounding them, Rafa took the chance to stared into Roger’s eyes. They were similar with his, only slightly darker. But it was still beautiful. More beautiful in real life rather than in television or magazine he used to see.

That’s actually the thing which made Rafa fell from his chair. He had a crush on Roger since the day he discovered him. He looked up to Roger like he looked up to no one else. And tomorrow’s was his biggest day yet, because Roger Federer will be there to play him.

Roger, his biggest crush, will be competing along with him. A little awkward Spaniard who was practically a nobody. And just now, when he was busy daydreaming about Roger disguising as reading his school’s letter, the man himself popped up upon his eyes. Did God just spied on his daydream or what?

“Good luck on your game tomorrow,” Rafa managed to break the heavy air between them.

“ _Our_ game,” Roger replied.

Rafa chuckled sheepishly.

And oh dear God, wasn’t that the cutest shit Roger had ever witnessed. He hid his amusement nonetheless.

They couldn’t sleep that night in their separate rooms. Rafa’s heart and emotion was too erratic and loud to let him sleep. He still remember how Roger touched him on his back and helped him. He remember how beautiful Roger’s eyes were. He remember how sweet Roger’s English in his ears. He was so deep in his own mind.

While Roger couldn’t sleep because of their bizarre encounter. Rafa was just a kid who idolized him so much (he could tell it in his eyes). And yet, he couldn’t get Rafa out of his mind. It’s bugging him so much. And he hated it.

The match was like no other Rafa nor Roger had encounter before. At first, Roger was going easy on the younger boy. He wanted to see how the boy reacted. And he reacted confusedly. It seemed almost like he didn’t like playing against Roger because he was going too easy for the sake of Rafa.

Roger get that and he decided to tighten his game. And boy, Rafa was excellent at returning his balls. Even the hard one. By the end of the first set, Roger started to feel threatened with Rafa’s score. The boy just beat him in the first set for God’s sake!

On set break, Roger tilted his head to get a glimpse of the Spaniard while drinking his isotonic water. Who was this boy exactly? Why he played this good? It’s not even a Slam and he was beaten in the first set by a nobody? What the fuck?

The second set was a disaster for Roger. He struggled so hard to tricked the Spaniard but instead he’s the one that got tricked back. He noticed that Rafa’s forehand was his weakness, but somehow his own backhand was even worse than Rafa’s forehand.

When Rafa’s got his winning match point, he jumped with a happy scream. Roger was shocked. Did he just loose to the freaking Spaniard?

Rafa was waiting for their handshake on the net, face all happy and smiley. And Roger swore he felt anger and something as close as disgust. To himself or to Rafa he couldn’t tell.

“Congratulations, Rafa,” he said, force-smilling in disbelief.

“ _Muchas gracias_ , Roger! You too play so well!” the Spaniard congratulated.

Roger quickly pulled his hand in annoyance and shook the umpire’s hand swiftly. He didn’t respond to Rafa’s compliment and chose too just walked away without a second glance. Rafa noticed this but he tried not to. Did Roger hate him because he beat him?

“Great match, Rafa! You beat the number 1!” cheered Toni who was still on his box in fluent Spanish.

“Yes, thank you Uncle,” Rafa nodded sheepishly.

They hugged before Rafa packed his rackets, shirts, and water bottles. Toni noticed how Rafa’s smile disappeared completely after they hugged.

“Boy, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“I think Roger hates me now,” the boy replied without looking.

“Ha! He’s being unsupportive I see,” Toni laughed in sarcasm,.

“It is not that, Uncle.”

“Than what?”

Rafa looked up as his jacket hung lazily on his grasp. He gave his uncle/coach a genuine confused look.

“He’s been nice to me since yesterday night. Why he hates me now?”

Toni laughed at his pupil’s question. Rafa was indeed a gifted tennis player, but sometimes he couldn’t contain his own naivety.

“Are you serious Rafa? You just beat him in 2 sets! Of course he hates you now. It made him look like an amateur.”

“B-but I thought tennis wasn’t about that!”

“Oh no, Rafa, tennis is _all_ about that. Tennis is his pride and you just destroyed it. Now, come, we must celebrate with the team and your family.”

Rafa went silence for a moment. He stared at the hard court beneath him and he looked like he’s thinking hard. So hard that his forehead beginning to frown. And in the next second he ran toward the locker room.

“Oy Rafa! Where are you going?” called Toni.

“I want to apologize to Roger!” he shouted back.

Did the boy just said he wanted to apologize to his opponent for beating him in a tennis match?

Rafa’s breath grew erratic by the time he reached the locker room. It was already empty, no sign of Roger whatsoever. He searched every corner and room for the man but it was nothing. He then looked by the end of the aisle. He saw a figure just made a sharp turn on left. He thought it was Roger.

He chased the man only to stopped the wrong person. It wasn’t Roger at all. He was disappointed. Toni was already a mad man when they met at the aisle junction.

“What the fuck are you doing, boy!? Roger has gone to sobbed his defeat out. You can’t apologize because you won him over!”

“I…”

“Now, I know you’re tired. Let’s just go back to the hotel and rest for a little bit, okay? We celebrate tonight. I’ll tell your team and the family.”

Toni didn’t let Rafa finished his sentence because he already dragging Rafa down to their rented car and drove off to the hotel.

Rafa’s mind was a chaos during their trip back to the hotel. He felt a ridiculous amount of guilt because of the previous match. He knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like that toward Roger but he couldn’t help not to. After sometimes following Roger’s carrier, he realized that Roger value tennis as much as him. He understood how Roger was feeling, but he didn’t know it’ll make him that upset.

“Just because you like him doesn’t mean you shouldn’t beat him, Rafa. It’s completely the opposite,” Toni murmured as he noticed Rafa’s silence.

“I don’t like him!” Rafa’s getting defensive.

“Oh lies, we all know that you got a little crush on that man. It’s completely okay, you know. He is, after all, your type,” Toni winked one of his eyes.

Rafa’s cheeks grew crimson red in a matter of second.

“But you must remember, don’t let your heart clouded your decision to be good. You are gifted Rafa, don’t let anyone proof you otherwise,” Toni continued.

He just turned professional less than a year ago. Tennis world as a professional was indeed different and bizarre from what he used to know. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not, yet.

“Yes uncle,” he managed to reply.

Roger Federer was a highly susceptive man back at the hotel. He came back with silence as his team knew how upset he was. One of them started to mock Rafa as a joke to made Roger’s spirit high again. And in the matter of second, they’re all mocking Rafa’s techniques.

“Can you guys please shut up? Roger didn’t want you babbling about Rafa right now. He’s upset for his lost,” Mirka defended as he kept stroking Roger’s back.

“But it’s true, Mirka. He couldn’t shut up every time he did those lame left-handed serves. He’s pathetic!” said one of them.

“Being a laft-handed wasn’t lame, Victor, and you know it,” Mirka gave Victor a deadly glare.

Oh how much he loved Mirka at times like this.

“Mirka’s right. And I want you to leave this room. Right now, all of you,” Roger spoke the first time to his team after the match.

They all went silence and practically left the room without another word.

“God, I hate them all,” Mirka cursed as he smiled toward his boyfriend, “no offense, though.”

“None taken,” Roger smiled lovingly, “I’m going to get them fired next morning.”

Mirka gasped dramatically, “are you sure?”

“Yes. All of them.”

“And why’s that?” Mirka asked cheekily.

“No one can hate Rafa Nadal more than I am in this world,” Roger said with a smirk.

Mirka laughed at the response.

That’s true. Roger Federer is going to hate Rafael Nadal more than anyone else.

Roger decided to rest his tendons by taking a long hot bath. Mirka was off to sort their check-outs and departures. After all, Roger lost the match. They have no use in Miami Open any longer.

Roger was busy thinking the match as his body was drowned by the nice hot water. The little Spaniard was indeed gifted. He remembered those back-hands and vocal serves. He remembered how those muscular forearms taking all of his balls. He was deeply impressed. But still disgusted.

_Muchas gracias, Roger! You too play so well!_

A really big smile he received from Rafa when the Spaniard said that. He liked how Rafa smile. All toothy, happy, and sincere. He looked so good with that smile.

Wait, what?

Did he really think Rafa looked good with his smile? What was he thinking?

“I think I need a rest,” Roger convinced himself.

He then got out from the bath, unplug the drain, dried himself up a little bit, and rolled the hotel towel around his waist. When he got out from the bathroom, he heard footsteps near his room. And then someone was exactly on his doorstep. He could tell it by their shadow, apparently. But this someone wasn’t doing anything. He thought that they were going to knock on his door, but it turned out they didn’t.

Roger started to feel annoyed since it definitely wasn’t Mirka. He just wanted to be left alone after the emotionally challenging match. Why can’t people just leave him alone? He groaned and decided to tell this person to go away.

It was a really big surprise when he saw Rafa’s face hanging in front of him.

“Oh… uh, _hola_ Roger,” Rafa greeted awkwardly.

“Rafa?” Roger said confusedly, “what are you doing here?”

Rafa was a blabbering mess when Roger shot him that question. Roger couldn’t understand his erratic English that got mixed up by his native language.

“You’re not lost or anything are you?” Roger suspected.

“Lost? No, no, I not lost. I just-“

Suddenly Rafa’s stomach decided to gave its thought too on Roger’s question. It was so audible that Roger couldn’t hold himself to grin.

“Someone’s hungry,” he tease, forgetting his annoyance in a matter of second.

Rafa’s face was flushed in crimson red as he hold his stomach.

“I-I think so, _sí_ ,” Rafa admitted.

“Well, come on in than. Let me put on some clothes and get downstairs for a snack,” Roger smiled as he opened his door wider for Rafa.

“Together?” Rafa asked.

“Yes.”

Roger was further from confused at himself. He thought he hated the kid and just wanted to be left alone, but why he said yes than? In fact, why the hell he let the kid sat on his chair while he’s dressing in his room?

He felt like he was a completely different person when he was with Rafa. He suddenly was this nice person who just want Rafa’s company and be nice to him. Plus the funny thing is, he barely know the Spaniard. They just actually met yesterday and that’s that.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit creepy rather than funny.

“What do you have in mind?” Roger asked to the other man as he grabbed a fresh shirt on his wardrobe. Distracted mind was a good idea in times like this, right?

“What?” Rafa asked softly.

“For the food. What do you have in mind?”

Rafa panicked when he realize he didn’t have anything in his mind. To be honest, he is panicking at the moment because this was all turned out to be unlike what he was expecting.

Let’s be frank here, first he found himself wandering around Roger’s door. Second Roger miraculously opened the door half naked with a towel hanging around his waist. And last, his stomach decided to made the situation even worse. He just want death then and there.

“Uh… I want kebab,” he managed to let out.

“Turkish food, huh? Alright than, let’s go.”

Rafa quickly stood up when he saw Roger’s figure walked out from his bed. He was wearing something really casual. Just dark jeans and a thin white T-shirt. He never saw Roger in something this casual. If it’s not sport clothes than it must be suits or tuxedo. It made him tingly for some reason on the inside.

“I don’t really know the best kebab store around here, but I know a place. We can walk since it’s not far.”

Rafa nodded as he glued his eyes on the ground. He really didn’t want to let his mind wandering around about Roger. It’s dangerous.

During the walk, they rarely talked. And if they talked it was mostly Roger commenting on something or making a small talk about what came across his mind. Rafa mostly just nodding or chuckling nervously. But it was lovely, at least that’s what Rafa was thinking. Roger was so polite and didn’t rush anything up. He wasn’t loud nor quite. He was just like exactly on Rafa’s mind. Classy and a gentleman.

When they arrived at the kebab store, they’re welcomed by the waiter directly. Rafa was surprised because he never met a waiter as energetic as this one.

“Ah Roger! What a lovely surprise! How’ve you been?” asked the smiling man.

Okay, that maybe surprised Rafa a little bit more. They knew each other.

“I’m good, Azra. How’re you?” Roger smiled as he shook Azra’s hand.

“Never better! And who is this young fellow with you?” Azra asked as he eyeing on Rafa.

“This is Rafael Nadal, my friend.”

The last introduction made Rafa shivered. Did Roger really consider him as his friend? Not just as an opponent?

“Ah Rafael Nadal. I bet you are Spanish, _no?_ ” Azra imitated his dialect.

“ _Sí sí_ ,” Rafa grinned.

“I’m Azra Emette. Nice to meet you.”

Rafa nodded with a small ‘me too’ escaping from his lips.

“Table for two than, getlemen?”

“ _Sí_ ,” replied Roger, eyes somehow watching Rafa’s as if he searched for the Spaniard approval.

Rafa openly gave Roger the approval he wanted with a soft smile. Roger’s heart somehow went giddy all of the sudden.

“You know Azra, Roger?” Rafa asked as they were left on their table while Azra grabbed them the menu.

“Yes. For about two years now. I came here the first time I’m competing on the Miami Masters. He’s very friendly,” Roger replied.

Rafa let out a low hum as his affirmation. Azra was indeed friendly.

“I hope you don’t mind I called you a friend. It’s a habit,” Roger then murmured as he busied himself with the tissue box.

“No no, it’s okay, _no?_ ” Rafa responded with a wide eyebrow.

“It’s just that we’ve been knew each other for a couple of days only. I’m afraid you’re getting offended or something.”

“No, I want friend with you.”

And that’s the bravest thing Rafa had just said toward Roger yet. He almost felt proud for himself.

“Me too,” Roger smiled at the younger man.

When Azra was back with the menus, Roger quickly order his usual as Rafa was confused with the meal list. He just realized how small his knowledge were about the Turkish Kebab or Turkish foods in general. In the end, Roger and of course Azra, helped him to choose one.

Their evening went smooth and couldn’t be better. They talked a lot about themselves and their surroundings. Roger learned that Rafa was a very family man with a tennis and football talent and had a big interest in cars. Expensive ones. Rafa learned that Roger was a big basketball fan, had a sister named Diana, and a musical enthusiast.

They never had a night as amazing as that. There’s just something between them that just connected beautifully. For Roger it wasn’t like something he and Mirka had. It’s just different.

Rafa talked a lot when he got comfortable with him, Roger noticed. He joked a lot too, and it’s funnier than his jokes. He went almost mad at how funny Rafa actually was. Not to mention his jokes were full-equipped with his heavy accent and funny faces. Roger never laughed that hard for a long time.

Roger also noticed that Rafa was very affectionate. He didn’t know if it’s a Spanish thing to do, but Rafa was indeed very affectionate. It’s not like he hated it when Rafa bumped their shoulders together, or brushed his fingertips toward Roger’s hand. No, he in fact kind of loved it even though he wasn’t used to it. It’s lovely.

Time passed rapidly that Roger first noticed it when the restaurant started to get quitter. He looked around for a little while, without letting his attention to Rafa got interrupted. The restaurant was almost empty. In fact, it’s just the two of them who were there beside the cashier man and and the waitresses.

“Raf, I think we should get going,” Roger heavy-heartedly cut the young Spaniard’s dialogue.

“Why?”

“The restaurant is near closing.”

Rafa widened his eyes before he looked around like what Roger did just now.

“Oh,” was all he could said.

They quickly paid the bill after having some hot argument about who’s paying. Roger insisted that he’s the one who should pay since he’s the one who brought Rafa to the restaurant. Rafa, on the other hand, insisted that he’s the one who wanted to eat kebab so he’s the one who should be paying.

The argument was won by Roger only because Rafa realized that he had left his wallet on his room. He turned quickly to reddish as Roger teased him.

“So with what are you going to pay, actually? Tennis ball?” Roger said as he received his change.

“No, with my strength. I can escape and run a long time without stop.”

“That would be stealing.”

“No if you not get caught,” Rafa finished brilliantly.

Roger laughed for some more.

They walked back to their hotel in silence. It wasn’t awkward or cold, just silence. They seemed to be too tired to made up some words or just plainly ran out of topics. But, it’s completely okay. At least, by that, they could focus on brushing each other hands off without making it looked like something intentional.

The night was cold. Roger wondered on how just two hours ago it’s still hot and steamy, but now it’s all windy and freezy. Rafa felt the same way too, because he scooted closer to Roger. The gap between them was now smaller, barely visible.

Roger noticed this and he tilt his head toward the young Spaniard, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“Cold,” Rafa simply said.

Roger smirked before he said, “cold? I thought you’re the one who wear a jacket?”

“It’s not a jacket but a… a _cárdigan_ ,” Rafa replied reasonably.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

The Spaniard stole a glance toward the Swiss’ curly hair before he glued his eyes on the ground again. He remembered why he stood in front of Roger’s room hours before. He remembered why he searched Roger’s room in the first place. He wanted to apologize.

He wanted so bad to say it without knowing what actually driven this kind of urgency. It was almost like a quick response, like a reflexes. His mouth felt dangerously itchy because of it.

“Uh… Roger? I want to say sorry,” he said, breaking the silence between them.

“To me? For what?” asked Roger, hands already inside his pocket jeans.

_For beating you in the match._ Rafa wanted to say. But he realized it wasn’t the best way to say it. Sounded more like a mockery for his liking, or maybe Roger’s. Yeah, most definitely Roger’s.

“I beat you today,” he finally said. It wasn’t exactly like what he wanted to say. It sounded rather like a question than a statement. And far from an apology.

“Yeah, you did. I don’t know how you managed it, though,” Roger replied.

Rafa sighed in relief when Roger got the idea of what he was saying. Misunderstanding between the two of them was the last thing Rafa wanted to happen.

“But, hang on. You wanted to say sorry because you beat me today? Is that what you’re implying?” the taller man continued.

“Uh… _Sí?_ ” Rafa was now unsure of what he’s going to do next. He realized what he’s saying was uncommon and most certainly unprofessional and so fucking weird. His uncle _slash_ coach’s words was ringing loudly on his ears. He should’ve done just that; staying away from Roger Federer as far as he could and not causing any trouble or making his name sounded bad. He should’ve-

And then the laugh broke. It was so loud and comical that Rafa never thought it’ll come out from Roger’s mouth. But it did, anyway. Rafa was so surprised that he jumped with a loud shriek.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Roger managed to said between his laugh. He touched Rafa’s shoulder and laughed some more.

It was started to get contagious, honestly. And shortly after, Rafa found himself laughing. People started to look at them out of interest, but both of them seemed careless. Roger’s laugh was just too damn funny.

“Oh Rafa, that’s just the funniest joke you’ve done this whole evening!” Roger said after his laughed started to die out. Tears rolling along his cheeks. His face all red and steamy. Rafa found it so endearing.

“But is not a joke, Roger. I am really sorry for beating you.”

The Swiss player had completely died out his laugh the moment Rafa said that. He suddenly remembered that he wanted Rafa to apologize to him. He wanted Rafa to actually felt bad for beating him. He wanted to destroy Rafa’s carrier because he beat him right at the start of his prime.

But that was him back at the hotel. Back before he took that bath and found the confused Spaniard on his doorstep. Back when Rafa congratulating him for playing amazing and he felt nothing but a disgust when he shook Rafa’s hand.

He was different now. Or at least he felt different. Right?

“What? Why?” Roger asked, utterly and most definitely confused.

“I not know… I know what the match mean to you. I just- I think… _Oh Dios, no lo sé. Solo quiero decirlo_ ,” mumbled Rafa.

“You realized I don’t speak Spanish, right?”

“I say I not know. I just want to say sorry, I not know why.”

Roger shut his mouth. He starred at Rafa who now has turned red. Was he embarrassed or was he angry for not getting his words correct? Because Roger could tell the Spaniard was struggling with his English. He looked completely frustrated.

He decided to continue his walk, leaving the younger man behind. His hands already inside his trouser pocket and the wind brushed off his raven hair.

“You simply can’t feeling guilty every time you beat your opponent, Rafa,” he said without looking back.

“It’s just you. Not my every opponent. Only you,” Rafa’s voice was at the brink of breaking.

It felt so hard and heavy for Rafa. They’re just talking about the goddamn match but somehow it felt a lot deeper. For him, it was so emotional and suffocating. And he refused to acknowledge that Roger didn’t felt the same way too.

“Still, you can’t do that. You’re a professional tennis player. And I am no special. We are rivals. You beat me today and that’s fine. Because tomorrow, the next day, or any other day I’m the one who’s going to beat you. So, throw away all the sentimental if you want to be the greatest,” Roger spoke.

“But-“

“See you soon, Rafa.”

And with that, Roger left Rafa and walked by himself back to the hotel.

He left as if he was deeply offended by Rafa. But in truth, it wasn’t like that. He was actually confused at what Rafa was trying to say. He was so deep in his confusion that his brain started to made things up.

Was that mean he was special to Rafa?

His mind wanted so bad for it to be the case. But his other senses was afraid if he misinterpreted it. Maybe Rafa didn’t mean it that way. Maybe Rafa was just being a naïve child. Maybe Rafa was just being kind or maybe mischievous. He didn’t fucking know.

And he didn’t like not knowing. Maybe that’s the reason he left. He didn’t like not knowing what Rafa meant and he didn’t like not knowing what he himself want.

He knew he was so fucked because of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, questions, or anything, really, will be deeply appreciated. Danke and Gracias!


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